


Saddleworth lovers

by SiobhanMcG



Category: Frankie (TV 2013)
Genre: And a friend, Angst, Bisexual Angst, F/F, F/M, Hope I can still change it, I also suddenly had to think up a title, I swear that eventually the others will show up, I'm so sorry for these tags- It's late and I've written 5 different versions for this fic, So much angst, This fic will kill me, Zoe Evans is a bisexual and you can pry that headcanon from my cold dead hands, just me being a shite really, light homophobia, misguided forays into heterosexuality, probably sexual fantasies up on moors, some chapter, some day, watch me do it, when I am not procrastinating, zoe evans will get therapy and a dog and a girlfriend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2018-12-17 13:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11852109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiobhanMcG/pseuds/SiobhanMcG
Summary: Dr. Evans takes the break she needed, but a hole in the pavement ends up pushing her in different directions than she anticipated before she sets off home again to start therapy. Don't worry, she'll get her dog, therapy and girlfriend- Eventually.





	1. Out of the moors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Regency](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regency/gifts).



The wind blows the cutting rain even deeper into her skin, down to her every bone where it cleanses her from within. Her leather jacket might as well not have been there as every raindrop seemed to hit her skin directly like a sharp and agonising shot. She didn’t know how long she had been out here, but couldn’t find herself to care either. She feels alive and numb at the same time as the self-flagellating drops tear through her skin like small ice bullets. She had deserved this and needed this.

When she looks up the sky around her is bleak and grey, filled with uniform swirls of rain and wind. As she looks around she realises she has no idea where she is right now. One would think that it would be easy to find landmarks in the rough moorland surrounding her, but after hours and hours of walking a slightly different landscape in a slightly different village each day, it really doesn’t. Each muddy path could have been one of yesterday or the day before and every odd rock seems to have at least a dozen twins. The hills don’t forgive her either. That’s okay, she’ll muddle through. It’s what she deserves.

The rain burns her blood, cleaning her of what she did as it burns away the blemishes and leaving her blank. Except it doesn't, not really. She knows that she’ll need therapy eventually because her mind is a mess. High up here surrounded by grass and stone she might feel peaceful -sane even- but she knows that as soon the yellow lights of the village will come into sight the tension in her mind returns as her stomach will start to clench and her heart start to whirl. She has de- and reactivated her Facebook account four times, she hadn’t quite known why- No, she knows exactly why. The compulsive need to know what Frankie Maddox is up to; still irrationally afraid she might make fun of her in her absence, try and undermine her. The rational part of her mind knew perfectly well that the nurse wouldn’t do that and if anything, Frankie would simply be glad she had taken some time off. In the end, she had deleted the app from her phone and promised herself she could check up on her boys once she felt better. She needed the space.Thinking about what she has done causes bile to rise in her throat, made worse by the knowledge she still feels the need. It’s unclear why exactly she has this need to know what the other woman is up to or why she feels the need to check up on her. She shivers. For a moment the rain pellets no longer cleanse her when her cheeks burn in embarrassment and self-hatred. She tries to speed up, walk it off, but as soon as her foot hits the ground she feels the sweat on her skin. It clings to her skin and nauseates her, the cold rain seems to be incapable of freeing her from the warmth that clings to her skin and pastes her hair to her head. Disgusting. Bile rises in her throat a second time and leaves an acerbic aftertaste in her mouth. The sky flashes in a crack. Anxiety suffocates her like a second skin that she wants to tear off and scrub clean roughly in a long cold shower. It’s what she’s trying to do out here, but so far she’s failing miserably. Somewhere above her thunder rumbles and roars through the sky. She retches.

She can’t feel herself for the rest of her walk as her mind is filled with the grey noise of the sky falling around her. Her legs carry her and she is grateful for that as she can’t feel the burn now, but knows it will be there to greet her in the morning; aching and burning. It doesn’t make her feel any better or any worse, just numb and empty which she embraces for now. The sky is starting to darken, dampening the sounds around her and soon only the wind whipping around is all that is left in the air. When the mist sets in lights start to float- impossible to tell what's far and what’s near. She keeps going- tiring her legs. One more valley to pass and hill to climb and then she can descend back into the village at the foot of the moors. When she returns she’ll strip off her clothes, soak in the bath in her en-suite and scrub her skin clean until it’s red and angry and sensitive to her touch.

_Five more stones. Four more stones. Three more grass patches. Two more puddles. One more step. And…_

  
She was lost. 

Beyond the hill lay more hill- and with what little sight she had she could make out that the village was in fact nowhere close.

Panic and anxiety washed over her. Suddenly she feels overly aware of every drop of sweat on her skin, sand under her nails and mud on her shoes. Her chest constricts and before she can help it the acid rises from her stomach. It hurts when she coughs up the last contents of her almost empty stomach; her muscles contracting around empty space. Her phone doesn’t have reception and the map she bought isn’t much help either. Her heartbeat starts to rise as she feels the tendrils of anxiety tangle inside her; suffocating her mind.

 

_Breathe in._

_  
Breathe out._

 

She calms down, temporarily. Walks on. Searches for landmarks. Finds none.

 

_Breathe in._

_  
Breathe out._

 

There are some trees, she can’t remember having seen any of those before or seeing them on her map. She isn’t sure what is north or south anymore at this point- for all she knows up might be down and inside could be out. Much like her, but now the frame feels broken. _Was there even a frame to begin with?_ The large rock formation at the top feels familiar, but she can’t be sure at this point. It feels so useless, no wonder no one wants her anymore. She _is_ useless- completely bloody useless at anything and everything. She can see that now, clear as day. For the first time in months, the sea seems to have calmed down and the water seems still; her mind is clear. If she would look down, she could see the seabed and all its rough peaks and ridges- probably full of dead reef and infertile rocks. It ought to make her sad, but she can’t find it in her anymore. Accepting her own redundancy is so much easier than fighting it. It’s almost freeing to know her husband no longer wants her or expects anything of her, that her partners probably think she has passed her expiration date and her children- No, she tries to be happy in the knowledge they’re grown up now and have moved beyond their mother; a mother who clearly isn’t quite capable anymore anyway, but she can’t. She loves them dearly and after all, it is what held her marriage together. But that is not something she wants to think about now. 

She walks up the next hill; higher. Searches the quickly darkening landscape. Thinks she sees an obelisk- the war memorial? Relief washes over her.

 

_Breathe in._

 

_Breathe out._

 

And obelisk. Uppermill. The village is close now.

Most of the anxiety seems to ebb away, replaced by a form of exhausted calm that leaves her truly numb. The acerbic taste in her mouth seems to have faded, or maybe it hasn’t- it isn’t like she can feel anything now and it doesn't matter. The freedom is exhilarating as for a moment it doesn’t matter what she has done, or that she’ll have to face her colleagues again eventually. Even the betrayal of her children- because that is what it feels like if she’s honest- stings a little bit less. James can rot, together with his child bride to be, what does she care. What does she care about twenty years of her life spent caged. A shrill, hysterical laugh leaves her before she realises. She cared so much it drove her to stalk and terrify a colleague; that’s how bitter and jealous she was.

She leans against the obelisk and looks down at the village that’s barely visible through the mist, now able to hear the cars and other noises in the background once more as the lights dimly filter through the darkness. Standing in this nondescript no-man’s land she feels herself come down from her rush, between moor and man she is stood and between lucid and deranged she rests for now.

The path down is steep and slippery, but she manages. Her legs might appear spindly, but she had spent most holidays and breaks of her adult life hiking. James had always hated it and so had the boys, but she had still managed to occasionally steal away a day on her own.

The rocky asphalt leading her into a random neighbourhood feels hard and trusted under her tired feet. She is in the wrong part of the village, but at least she’s there now. She can hear the noises of the main road in the distance; cars, people and pubs. Closer yet weaker are the noises of houses, warm and soft and intermingling with the fading smells of dinners eaten. When she gets back to her room in the only bed-and-breakfast in town she’ll have a long soak after scrubbing herself clean in a cold shower. The soles of her feet hurt and her muscles ache painfully, rather than calming now. She isn’t quite sure where she is, but with only one major road in the village, right through the middle, she’s sure she’ll get back eventually.

There’s a small puddle on the pavement in front of her and she hopes the water won’t soak through her shoes as she can’t be bothered to shift her step just that little bit to avoid it. Yorkshire pavements really are shite and in a desperate need of a fix she thinks-

Suddenly something hard and gritty hits her cheek and something bounces off her head- or rather her head bounces off something and her body is pressed against something hard, wet and cold, but that isn’t what shocks her the most. Her ankle twists and hurts, forced into an unnatural angle. She can’t help but scream out in pain and curl up in a ball, clutching her leg as pain shoots through her. It’s excruciating. She lies there, on the pavement for a moment, cursing under her breath when she realises that what had appeared to be a small puddle had actually been a rather large hole. _Not only useless but also just plain stupid these days apparently._ Deep down she hopes someone has noticed or heard her scream, even if she’d like to pretend to be fine and proudly hobble off. But no one seems to have noticed her fall or her current curled up state on the sidewalk- _Why would they? Who would care for a mentally unstable woman on the wrong side of 50?_

Eventually, she manages to get herself together and scrape her body of the pavement. Her ankle cannot support her weight and even the slightest movements send crippling bouts of pain raging through her leg, up to her back and into her brain. She whimpers, but tries to move, tries to lean against the stone wall leading her down the hill as she looks out for the first sign of human life. A car approaches and she tries to wave, but the driver either doesn’t see her or flat out ignores her. She starts to feel helpless but moves on.

At the corner she sees a church that she knows doubles as a community centre, the lights are on and there are bikes and cars parked inside. They must have a first aid kit in the very least. She hobbles on and with every motion she wants to scream in pain when it shoots through her body. When she enters the centre she can hear a voice coming from one of the rooms and gingerly knocks on the door before opening it. The bright lights burn her eyes a little when she does and when she adjusts she can see the room is filled with women approximately her age, who, judging from their weirdly twisted bodies, were in the middle of a yoga class. The scene before her briefly reminds her of the night she stole nurse Maddox’ keys, but she pushes the memory away. She stammers; apologises for coming in like this and says she hopes she isn’t interrupting- even if she clearly is-  and asks if they might possibly have a bandage for her ankle as she thinks she can’t stand on it anymore. She explains how she had been walking the moors all day, had gotten lost and had then fallen down on the pavement -a stupid mistake really, she ought to have paid more attention, it’s all her fault- and now she can’t put weight on it anymore and it hurts madly; it feels like it might be swollen and the angle could be a bit off, but she can’t be sure really. She realises she’s rambling but can’t stop herself as she tries to be polite.

They’re staring at her now, some with pity and some in confusion. She must be in a right state; strange woman, obviously not local, covered in sweat and mud, soaked to the bone and probably with little bits of pavement caked to her cheek. What a sight she must be. The woman who seems to be teaching the class finally manages to invite her in and asks someone to bring her a chair. Relief washes over her as she finally sits down and takes the pressure off her ankle. One of the women sits down and asks if it is alright to take off her shoe, as another moves to retrieve a first aid kit. All she can do is nod weakly as they strip off her shoe and sock and attempt at examining it. She would probably be better off examining it herself, but she’s too exhausted and her mind is refusing to process any input properly. Most of them are pretty useless, but eventually a woman who seems to have acceptable skill makes her way towards her. From the way she handles and examines her ankle it becomes clear she’s medically trained in some capacity. Now that she’s reassured she zones out and can feel sobbing taking over, wracking her body. She wraps her arms around her, no longer aware that she’s in the company of a group of complete strangers. She doesn’t notice it either when the woman who has wrapped up her foot slings an arm around her and takes her outside, sits them down at the foot of the staircase. Only the wrangled sobs and exhaustion manages to break to the surface of her consciousness, causing ripples the size of seismic sea waves before they crash into her mind and destroy all rational thought in their path.

“It’s okay-” the woman keeps rubbing small circles on her back “you can let it all out.”

She tells herself that she doesn’t want to let it out, not in front of a total stranger, but she knows she needs to and even wants to. The words start falling from her lips before she can stop herself and they stumble over each other in their haste to be free. She isn’t sure what she tells and what she doesn’t tell- but it doesn’t matter in the moment. Eventually, the words dry up as they linger on the floor between them. 

“What’s your name love?” 

“Zoe.” she sniffles between hiccups. 

The woman raises an eyebrow, telling her she didn’t quite catch that and telling her to articulate.

“Zoe Evans.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay sorry this is written in experimental form and is literally the fifth version of a first chapter- I could have written a complete fic in the time I took to write, re-write, discard and re-write this chapter. I'm basically going for the "intrusive thought mixed with depression and some obsessive/compulsive behaviour". If anyone has comments on how Zoe is written, please tell me. I find her extremely hard to write if I'm honest, so am also sneakily shaping her character a bit into a shape that I can work with here.
> 
> Also yes, the first part of this fic will be taking place up in Yorkshire, because I decided Zoe needs a break from work and her environment (and some distance from Frankie).
> 
> Also many thanks to Regency and GinDiva who are basically my constant cheerleaders and always there with kind words and encouragement (why they haven't blocked me from each and every form of communication yet is a complete mystery to me).


	2. Grey lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new person enters the rather grim stage of Zoe's life and she finds herself unable to move- quite literally.

Zoe wasn’t quite sure how she had ended up in the bath. The water was warm and gliding over her skin, chasing the cold from her bones and calming the whirring inside her head. Reality came flooding back to her and for once it wasn’t the ice cold shower she had become so accustomed to experiencing over the past months, but more like a warm blanket. She found her thoughts returning to Frankie and being in proximity to the other woman- being in her home, breathing in the smell of her, had always calmed her down. She found herself craving that sweet mixture of perfume, detergent and something uniquely Frankie. Upstairs, in her bedroom there was still an old t-shirt that had belonged to the other woman. It was wrong and she knew she shouldn’t have it in her possession- shouldn’t have taken it in the first place. But she had been desperate to have something of hers.   
  
Her eyes hurt from crying and the rippling reflection in the steaming water showed her the faint red traces it had left behind. Her skin appeared eerily white and fragile against the warm tones of the tub, as she traces her fingers over her legs and hips she could feel the hard bones sticking out.   
  
Over the past few months, her body had lost its strength. Much like her mind and her life has body had become a mere skeleton of who she once was. All substance had evaporated from her person and in a failed attempt disguise this she had hyper-fixated on her hatred for her colleague. But was it hatred? If she were honest, there were worrying undertones of jealousy and insecurity in her feelings towards Frankie. Even a painful desire to be liked- appreciated by someone- _anyone._ But even Frankie, who got along with everyone and who gave out effortless smiles had steered clear of her. Then it had slowly started to infect her- an obsessing need to be appreciated by someone. By Frankie.  
  
Her own insecurities had morphed into something larger. James leaving had been the final drop - the hardest hadn’t been his affair. It had been her subsequent loneliness. No one noticed her loneliness or the gaping hole left in her life. The boys prefered James and his new girlfriend, leaving her with an empty house and two sons who avoided spending any time with her.   
  
Her mind felt stuck in this never-ending spiral of regret, jealousy and depression. Much like on the moors, her mind is drawn back to James, Frankie, the practice, her marriage, her own insecurities, James, Frankie, the practice, her marriage, the stalking- She stopped her mind there.  
  
Memories trickled back in together with the warmth; she remembered how she got here. The strange woman had helped her into a car and managed to extract the name of her B &B from her. In her state of shock and meltdown, Zoe couldn’t remember doing much but crying as they drove. As the village was barely more than three large streets and two bus stops it hadn’t taken much for them to arrive. Vague recollections of dark streets illuminated by white streetlights and warm lights seeping from windows flashed through her memories. Her driver seemed to know the hostel owner and persuaded her to be allowed to use the main bathroom, saying something about _“in shock”_ and “ice cold and needs to warm up before she catches something”. It was only now that she realised those words had been describing her.  
  
She had hung a towel and large white bathrobe over the radiator, drawn her a bath and left her. Later she heard the owner of the B &B, a lady somewhere in her late 70s, outside the door of the ensuite telling her that her bag had been brought downstairs.  
  
When she finally left the bath the water had drawn all heat from her body replacing it with a pleasant numbness. Balancing on one leg she made her way into her bedroom and saw that the owner had laid out what she must have assumed to be Zoe’s pyjamas. She had been only half right. The bottoms were Zoe’s, the t-shirt was Frankie’s- Yet she put it on without a second thought, right now she needed it and to hell with the morality of it.

The next morning Zoe finds herself waking up in a pitch black room causing a moment of disorientation as she attempts to make out figures and shapes. Her eyes slowly adapt to the darkness. With some effort, she manages to swing her legs over the edge of the bed and now that her eyes have adapted to the darkness, she tries to make her way to the door. Then a stinging pain in her ankle brings back her memory. The moors, the fall, her ankle, the woman, the crying- Zoe’s body tumbles down as she takes another step. She’s too weary to get up and just stays there as the cold floor slowly drains her body of all warmth. It’s a curious form of inertia that has crept into her life and mind, and has now finally found its way into her bones. Everything was so very tiring. If only time could stop for a moment so she could rest a little. It reminds her of John’s garden party last summer; just after she found out about James. She had been standing on his balcony, silently observing the moving of people and cars below as they slowly made their way through the small streets of Bristol. A strange tranquillity washed over her as she stood there, observing the flow on the ground; simply standing, unthinking and unfeeling. The world had allowed her to pause as it went on without her. It had been complete bliss and she now found herself longing for another break- because even if she was far away now, it felt as if life hadn’t stopped haunting her. Her problems hadn’t disappeared and she was nowhere close to escaping or facing them than she was a month ago when Frankie had driven her back to her barren home and John has suggested taking a break. Her throat was constricted now, but she’s too tired to cry.  
Staying on the hard floor a bit longer her heartbeat slows down and she recollects her thoughts. _How did she end up here? And what had happened?_ As the memories flood back she realises that one essential piece was missing: what exactly had she told the woman? Tears threatened to come back, but now she refused to cry.

It didn’t matter. She would never see the strange woman again anyway.

 

Breathe in.  
  
Breathe out.

 

With newfound determination, she drags her body from the floor and stumbles into the en-suite to run a bath. The steaming water does her well.

The rain is coming down hard, beating against the windows, when Zoe makes her way to the lunchroom. The owner greets her with a concerned smile and Zoe hopes she offers what is meant to be a reassuring grin. Fortunately, the elderly woman has realised she isn’t in the right mood for cheerful banter and only enquires after her ankle and breakfast choices.  
  
She sits down near the window and looks out of it, attempting to eat her toast without much success. The knife makes an unpleasant scraping sound as the bite-size bits are reduced to smaller squares, yet she still chews until the toast is nothing but a heap of crumbs sticking to the inside of her mouth- unwilling to go down. The memory of how her skin had tightened around her hips and how her bones had stuck out makes her even more nauseous. The bread in her mouth tastes as grim as the grey light filtering through the thick rain outside. Both the toast and the tea have gone cold when something interrupts her spiralling mind.  
  
A pair of _slightly_ muddied boots have appeared on the floor (which she hadn’t realised she had been staring at) next to hers and are being taken off to be put on a shopping bag. _What’s the point of taking them off after treading in all the dirt anyway?_ Following the pair of boots, Zoe finds a pair of worn jeans, a jacket, and a dishevelled mess of brown hair framing an awfully familiar face.  
  
Her stomach makes an unpleasant twist.  
  
She instantly recognises the faint lines surrounding her eyes and the smell of her coat.   
  
It’s the woman from last night, now sitting down at the table. Right next to her. Fear takes over again. _What had she said? About Frankie? Too much? Too strange? Anything about the stalking? The cleaning?_ Then a numbness blocks her mind and her body is too flooded with exhaustion to react in any capacity other than to simply sit there and see what will happen. She is stuck in stasis, left completely at this woman’s mercy, so she waits for her to explain herself and her presence.

“Good morning love, had an okay night?”  
  
She isn’t sure how to reply- and even if she was, she couldn’t. Her mind is still stuck in an endless circle of anxiety.   
  
“Feeling any better yet?” She calmly continues, rubbing her hands together to generate some warmth.   
  
Zoe finds herself nodding, even if only out of politeness. _So far so good._

“Can you walk at all?”  
  
That’s a question she can answer. _Short, factual, medical._ “It’s wobbling at best- badly twisted I’d say; it’s double its usual size. Possibly a ligament sprain…”   
  
The other woman gives her a curious look but doesn’t react. “You sorted out something for it then?”

“Haven’t even started thinking about it.”  
  
“Ah…- Oh! Almost forgot what I came here for, your wallet.” She digs into the pockets of her coat, finally taking her eyes off Zoe. Part of her is relieved, but she also doesn’t mind it as much as she thought she did. “Here- Must’ve lost it in the car last night. I only saw it when I got home.” She hands Zoe her wallet.

There’s an odd contrast between the rough but warm brush of her hand and the smooth but cold leather of her purse. It makes her look up at the other woman whose bright blue eyes are staring right back at her intently. It’s the first time she sees her, connects with her. Zoe finds a mixture of concern and severity in the other woman’s eyes, but altogether not unkind.

It lies unspoken between them.  
  
Zoe resists the urge to look away from her and make this about a lost wallet, nothing more. But she knows she shouldn’t and the other woman doesn’t seem the type to let go that easily. Her voice falters and she finds herself looking at her hands which are now safely folded together, pressed between her legs. “... Thank you for your help yesterday.” Zoe finally manages to utter with more staggering and faltering than those six simple words could ever warrant.

The other woman shrugs and looks away, losing some of her intensity.  
  
“It’s okay- used to be a nurse anyway. Wrapping up an ankle isn’t much of a bother.”

“Oh- GP here.” She gestures at herself, awkwardly. _Not like she could have been talking about anyone else here._

Both grow silent as the woman now examines her more closely.

“You’re not from around here.”  
  
“Bristol- I’m off work for a bit. Needed a break.”   
  
“In Yorkshire?” Her voice has a sharp edge of scepticism to it and she gestures at the weather outside. It’s still grey, wet and cold- not much different from the week before.   
  
Zoe shrugs. “It’s far away- no patients pestering me here.”

The other woman laughs at that, it’s a warm sound. The vibrations surge through her, like lights travelling in the dark. “Fair enough, love.”   
  
A shimmer of affection for the woman grows inside her and she finds herself reaching out. “What about you- Used to be a nurse? You’ve still got the skill..”  
  
“But not the smile.” The other woman looks away pointedly, staring at the rain beating against the window.   
Not a subject for casual conversation.  
  
“Ah -” Zoe hopes it sounds understanding.  
  
“So you off for health issues?” The woman is looking at her again. Eyes inquisitive but barriers drawn.

“Amongst other things.”   
_Not a subject for casual conversation either._

“Hmm- enjoying Yorkshire?” The message has gotten through.

“It’s different.”

“What are you going to do about your ankle?” She asks after a moment, never breaking eye contact. Zoe shrugs in response; she hasn’t thought about it yet.

“No more hiking I hope?” A sharp eyebrow is raised in a command, rather than a question.  
Don’t you dare to clamber up there again.  
  
“Not anytime soon, no.” Zoe raises hers in return.

“Have you seen the local museum?”   
_You should see it, you won’t need to walk._   
  
She shakes her head.  
  
“Been to Oldham?” The lines in her face become more pronounced as she squints at Zoe. She can’t possibly be much older than her, yet she suddenly appears older. The other woman hadn’t had the easiest time as a district nurse then.

She shakes her head again, a strange feeling of guilt is creeping into her stomach. It was much like being back in school and being asked about homework she hadn’t made (which had rarely happened, making it worse when it did). Technically, she hadn’t done anything wrong. It was _her_ bloody break, wasn’t it?  
  
“Maybe caught a film? Gone out for a meal?” The other woman’s voice is rising as she speeds up, agitates but not threatening. Zoe doesn’t even bother shaking her head at this point, she just offers an apologetic look.   
  
“You seen anything but the bloody moors?” There’s a hint of humour in her voice. Normally she’d be affronted by anyone this straightforward, but it suits her. “I spent an afternoon in Manchester- I saw the cathedral.” She manages even more apologetically.   
  
The other woman throws her hands into the air. “That’s not Yorkshire!” Zoe can’t help but crack a genuine smile; it had been a while since she had done that. _It felt good._ “Shall I show you around? Might sort you out a wheelchair and crutches on the way- you’ll need both round ‘ere- trust me.”   
  
She shoots her a questioning look. It has been a long time anyone has looked after her without reason or motive. _And as much as she doesn’t want to admit it, it makes her think of Frankie. It’s something she would do._ Her thoughts must have shown on her face as the other woman replies to the question unspoken.     
  
“Been a bit restless anyway since my youngest left home, but you’re free to refuse of course.” She tries to shrug it off and act casual, but Zoe senses the underlying discomfort hidden in the statement. It makes her feel strangely at ease as she relates to the other woman. _Even if she doesn’t remember what she has told her, it can’t be too bad if she’s offering to show her around._ It’s this mix of empathy and reassurance. That makes her nod and agree.   
  
“I’m Catherine by the way.” She extends her hand towards Zoe, who automatically takes it. She has long and elegant fingers which carry a hidden strength Zoe finds, when Catherine’s fingers wrap around hers.   
  
“Catherine McIntyre.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes. It took a while, but it happened.  
> It's a bit different from usual (and shorter) since I'm trying to be concise, yet descriptive (expect some smaller updates to follow). There's another 5k worth of stuff out there at least in drabbles, but Zoe's mental issues are a bit of a pain to write. Hope you like Catherine, she's here to give Zoe somewhat of a social life outside of Frankie really. And as always, a big thanks to the golden trio of beta's and cheerleaders: Gindiva, Regency and Bluerbeetle.


	3. Rolling out

Catherine ushers her into finishing breakfast as she waves at the elderly woman making a rather ridiculous gesture apparently in an attempt to get tea. Surprisingly enough, it works.

When she limps away to retrieve her jacket Catherine is making a phone call, the words are masked by the rain hitting the window even harder now. An impulse draws her back to Catherine as she tries to make out the words— it’s part fear, part paranoia that stirs her mind. _No._ This is exactly what she had wanted to avoid, _this obsessive, paranoid and sick behaviour. God, I really have passed my due date. Such a sad—_ Before her mind can spiral more she is interrupted by the woman from before shuffling by holding a tray with coffee and smiling sweetly at her. Her face contorts in what she hopes is something resembling a smile and she limps on, knuckles white as she clutches the doorknob. When she returns Catherine has finished her phone call.

“Let’s get you that wheelchair.”

Not much is said in the car, nothing of consequence anyway. The closest GP post is in the next town a few miles out and Catherine points out the local church, school, chemist and shops as they drive down the village; or rather the one street making up the centre. She also points at the barely visible memorial on the hilltop she had walked past yesterday and talks about how she had fallen into the reservoir one summer when getting a bit pissed on a rented boat. The rain is still beating down hard and when she looks out over the reservoir more rain is all she sees. The outside world is as bleak as the worn fabric of the car seats and it doesn’t fill her with hope, it only exhausts her more. Sitting up feels tiring as her limbs are begging for a lie-down. At the same time all the things that could _and should_ be cleaned in Catherine’s car race through her mind. By unspoken rule Catherine continues filling the silence and occasionally pauses for Zoe to nod or confirm to hold up the pretence of conversation. For whom exactly they pretend neither woman knows.   
  
That is until Catherine shifts the subject to her children— one boy and two girls. She knows it is only a matter of time before Catherine will ask her about it, a thought that now makes her uncomfortable. And indeed, “Have you got any?” Catherine asks.  
  
“Two- my boys.” She tries to shift the conversation back to the other woman’s family. “You mentioned your youngest having moved out?”  
  
She nods. “Off to college up in Durham.”  
  
“Congratulations, you must be proud.” The words leave a bitter aftertaste in her mouth and she plays with the zipper of the leather jacket.  
  
“I am.” Catherine’s voice is clipped.  
  
Zoe stares at the road in front of them as silence falls again. Luckily it isn’t long before the grey shapes of houses appear and they turn into a small driveaway.

The GP post is a generic green-ish building that had probably seen its best time before the construction even finished somewhere in the eighties. Slightly too old, slightly underfunded and with the ever familiar NHS-logo covered in rain making the dust lump together as it slides down. Her attention is directed away when Catherine turns into what she instantly recognises as a reserved spot.

 _“Reserved: Dr S. O’Brien [GP].”_ The plate in front of them reads. She frowns at Catherine who has recovered and now looks smug as she reaches out to grab her bag from the backseat.  
“Isn’t this a reserved-” Zoe starts out, but before she can finish her sentence Catherine interrupts.  
  
“You’re badly injured.” She chirps “It’d be irresponsible to let you walk all the way.”  
  
She raises an eyebrow. “It’s two extra meters.”  
  
“Injured.” Her tone leaves no room for discussion. However, Zoe is used to much worse (herself amongst others) and not about to give in. Part of her is annoyed and empathises with this doctor O’Brien, even if only because her team probably pulled similar stunts

“But-”  
  
“It’s pissing down” Catherine shoots her a wicked smile “and the old cow isn’t even in today.” With that, she swings open the car door and is practically humming as she walks over to Zoe’s side to help her out. The sign seems to be staring at her.  _What is going on between them?_  Probably a conflict she didn’t want to have any part in. _I have enough to worry about_. Before she can give it any more thought Catherine opens the door and helps her get out.

The interior is the usual mixture of blue epoxy floors, red and beige plywood and green details that must have seemed like a great idea in the early 2000s. A young man in the reception area looks up as they enter. His eyes instantly widen with a mixture of surprise and shock flashing across his face.  
  
“Catherine! If doctor O’Brien catches you here-” He shoots out of his chair, almost losing his balance in the process. He reminds her a bit of her youngest, always a bit too eager making him a tad clumsy.

“She won’t.” Catherine answers with a cocky grin

“But-” He tries to sputter, but Catherine cuts him off.

“I’ve worked here longer than she has, I’m looking forward to that old hag kicking me out!” The man behind the counter looks positively terrified now “Besides, we’ve got a reason to be here.” She nods towards Zoe. “This lady here is injured.”

The young man finally registers Zoe’s presence.

“Friend of yours?”

Catherine looks at Zoe for a moment.   
  
“Maybe at the end of the day she will be.”

“Ah—” He studies Zoe now and she can't help but look away. He’s in his late twenties or early thirties if she’d had to guess, part of their nursing team. She extends her arm to introduce herself and he mirrors her movement.  
  
“Zoe Evans.”   
  
“William Brown, nice to meet you.”   
  
Zoe nods in reply, now turning to Catherine for some kind of input, but she has already marched off leaving her with the younger man.   
  
“So” They both start at the same time before falling silent again and looking at each other, both mildly amused now.   
  
“How do you two know each other then?” He asks.   
  
She shrugs and looks away. “I wobbled into her yoga class last night.” And points at her ankle.  
  
“She does yoga now?” His mouth falls wide open, matching the perplexed look in his eyes. “Oh dear...”   
  
_Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned that_ . Zoe thinks to herself.   
  
Then he adds, more to himself than to her. “That suspension must really be getting to her.”   
  
_Definitely shouldn’t have mentioned that._   
  
He then looks at her again. “And you’re saying she just offered to help you out eh?”   
  
“Yes?” She had presumed Catherine to be the annoying helpful type of person. “It’s a bit uncharacteristic is all..”   
  
Oh?   
  
They both are equally confused now. But before either can ask any more of the many questions on their mind, Catherine returns with a pair of crutches and a wheelchair. “Hop on love.” She orders.

Zoe finds she cannot refuse and before she knows it she’s being wheeled back to the parking lot.

She is still overthinking about her brief conversation with William when they arrive back the car  
  
“So what did Will say in my absence then.”   
  
“Nothing much...”  
  
“Really now?” Zoe hears the scepticism in her voice but doesn’t reply. “He’s an awful gossip really.”  
  
Her cheeks heat up as she feels caught, but Catherine bends over to pat her shoulder.  
  
“I appreciate the attempt at politeness, love _._ ” The smile is audible in her voice and soon both women are giggling. She feels light, it has been a while since she laughed like this; over nothing of consequence at all.  
  
The other woman looks over at her, eyes still twinkling. “You thought of anything you’d like to do today in the meanwhile?”  
  
A rushed feeling impulsivity fills her as she looks out of car. The bleak rain suddenly doesn't seem so bleak anymore.   
  
She turns to look at Catherine. “Surprise me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAAH. Sorry for the long time and sorry for the short update! Life has been life and instead of throwing lemons at me has thrown a part-time retail job, degree applications and a kidney infection at me. Writing fic has been at the bottom of my to-do list for a while and my muse seems to have gone on a holiday (I can't blame her to be honest). Luckily, I still have my cheerleaders Regency, GinDiva, Daisydoctor and BlueBeetle who for some reason persist to cheer me on! I am ever so grateful to them and their pom-poms!


	4. A dying sun

Catherine ends up wheeling her around town- second-hand bookstores, a small local exhibition, one or two landmarks and a coffee in a 70’s-styled café. _She isn’t quite sure how they fill the afternoon, but the time melts away._ It is with some bitterness that she realises she hasn’t enjoyed herself like this in a very long time, but she is distracted before she can give the feeling any more thought. The rain clears away and leaves a blue sky, filled only with the occasional cloud, resulting in picturesque view. Once Catherine is wheeling her back to the car she closes her eyes and takes a moment. A warmth as solid as the sun is rich pours over her face. Zoe can’t remember the last time she paused; stopped to do nothing but watch. She opens her eyes again. The hills look peaceful, the last rays of light fall down between the clouds and cover the valley in a gentle glow. The light was different here- It engulfed the area around her, suspending time and reality for an infinitesimal moment. Where the afternoon glow in Bristol only sped up the afternoon, begging to be swept into the excited furor of night, the light here slowed down. Asking her to consider the moment and step away. It’s another welcome change.

Catherine must have noticed her gazing because she raises an eyebrow and hums the question.

“Just enjoying the sight is all.”  
  
“Ah-” Catherine lifts her head to take in the hills bathing in sunlight, but shrugs with an air of indifference “I guess it’s special if you aren’t used to it.”

Her response sinks Zoe’s heart a little, but at the same time, she sees how well Catherine fits into the landscape. Her boots covered in splatters of dried mud and wax cotton jacket worn by time. A more realistic part of her is well aware she is romanticising both the environment and the woman currently helping her into the car, but she can’t be arsed with it right now. 

Catherine’s smooth movements as she helps Zoe into her car confirm that she is a well practiced nurse. She can’t help but wonder why Catherine is suspended and the thought keeps nagging at her as they drive until the words are begging to come out.  _ Why is she helping me? _ The even larger questions that has been hanging around them since this morning. Like Frankie Catherine had appeared to possess an almost annoying stroke of kindness, but then the man at the GP post had thrown her off. He seemed to be almost shocked at what she told him. And unlike Frankie, Catherine didn’t seem to be completely selfless or in the habit of helping every lonely and tearful individual thrown onto her path. The more she tries to make sense of the woman next to her, the more it throws her off track and into confusing tangents of deep thought.

Catherine is the first to break the silence created by questions crackling in the air. “What’s on your mind then?” But her eyes stay focused on the road as she speaks.  
  
Forced to bite the bullet, Zoe answers. “Why are you doing this?” Not looking at the woman next to her either.   
  
Catherine only lets out a non-committal, questioning hum forcing her to define her question further.   
  
“Helping me.”   
  
“Trying to be nice, I guess.” Catherine stares at the road ahead. Maybe it is just her imagination, but she thinks Catherine is gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. But Zoe carries on.   
  
“I’m practically a stranger to you.”   
  
“Not anymore, right?” A small smile plays around the hardened lines in Catherine’s face. It throws her off and she suddenly feels unsure how to respond.    
  
“Maybe.”   
  
The answer seems to be good enough for Catherine. Neither is going to get a straight answer out of the other, but neither is sure if they really need it. They both appear to need something the other is unknowingly offering. It’s liberating to let it all go for once.

When she lies down in bed later that evening, she thinks back to her life in Bristol. The enormous empty house and disconnected family. It would be so nice to start anew; a clean slate. If only she could erase her mistakes and start over without anyone knowing about her or her family  _ or Frankie. _ If she were honest she knew it wasn’t what she wanted— “It is by our failures that we define ourselves,” as grandmother used to say. Probably something Catherine would say as well.

Her mind wanders back to Frankie as well, feeling a strange pull from within her. Buried deep within her chest,, she could feel a physical longing for her. Nothing made any sense without her and she didn’t know what to make of the feeling. It is a sensation bordering on painful which pushes her to reach for the old shirt she had kept hidden in her luggage. Why exactly she was hiding it and whom she was hiding it from she didn’t know herself. Nevertheless. a mixture of shame and guilt overcame her and she stuffed the t-shirt back down into the bottom of her bag. It felt good to overcome her impulses, but it also felt cold and hollow lying there alone. Like a forgotten shell, void of life that had outlived its usefulness, chipped and full of cracks. There was no point in prolonging her existence she felt, and if anyone could have asked, the only reason she lived at this point was because she hadn’t died yet. She was a waste of time and space now; her husband no longer wanting her, her children no longer needing her and her mind deserting her. A droplet started to form in her corner of her eye as the void inside her spread out. From her heart into her lungs and organs, onto her arms and legs, and finally paralyzing even her fingers. She willed her heart to stop pumping the blood through her veins, now loathing the very beats she could  _ feel _ keeping her alive. Strangely enough she had never felt as corporally aware of her own life as she did now, seeing her chest pulsate in a rhythm she had heard countless times. The droplet in the corner of her eye now became a tear, then slid down her cheek before falling down to her neck. She thought about her children again, her two peach perfect boys. She did owe them an apology in the very least, she figured.

_ One more day _ .

 

And on that thought she falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My eternal thanks to my support and cheerleaders GinDiva, Regency and DaisyDoctor. I would probably be procrastinating in a corner somewhere without y'all. It's short chapters for now because I suck and well- deal with it :')


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Flashbacks-in-dream trope. I am sorry for nothing.

The night is full of shadows and confusion, she can’t catch up with the images chasing her unconsciousness. Shards of memories emerge and evaporate; the changes in her boys’ faces as they grew up, the flutter of her white dress as they exited the church together, how perfect her future would be. Then there was the divorce; the fighting, the shouting, the screaming, the slamming of doors and finally the occasional hitting and kicking. Her mind is neither awake, nor asleep when the memories surface; a part of her is there in the bed of her B&B, another part is stuck in her own past.

In one of her dreams she finds herself looking in a mirror, but the woman staring back at her in the mirror was foreign. The blonde hair so neatly pinned up looked familiar, but it was nothing like her. The white dress with lace sleeves fit her, but it didn’t suit her. It was all she had ever dreamed of; she had worked hard, studied at a good university, and was about to marry well. Yet something was missing. Was it children? She hadn’t really thought about having children, her career had always come first. Panic was clouding her mind; her heartbeat rising as sweat started to form on her temples.   
  
 _What if it is the wrong choice?  
  
_ Her stomach doesn’t stop twisting and churning. She should be feeling happy, but somehow something was missing. _But what?_ James was a good man. Good looks, good education, good job. Maybe not the kindest or the most caring, but men never were.   
  
 _Right?  
  
_ The woman staring back at her in the mirror was foreign. The blonde hair so neatly pinned up looked familiar, but it was nothing liker her. The white dress with lace sleeves fit her, but it didn’t suit her. It was all she had ever dreamed of; she had worked hard, studied at a good university, and was about to marry well. Yet something was missing. Was it children? She hadn’t really thought about having children, her career had always come first. Panic was clouding her mind; heartbeat rising, stomach turning, temperature increasing.   
  
_What if he was the wrong choice?  
  
_ Rational thinking told her she was wrong; just nerves, as her nan would say. Months -almost a year- had passed since she said yes, years had passed since they first met. James was the one- He had to be. He was going to be cherry on top of the cake.  
  
 __The one.  
  
In retrospect, he had been her white whale. And she probably his.

*

The next place her memories take her was painfully familiar. She found herself sitting on the wooden garden bench in what once was their shared garden. Trouble had been brewing for a while. She couldn’t remember when she and James last talked, let alone the last time they had sex. Not that she minded, she found she didn’t miss it in the slightest. It felt safer this way. But she wasn’t naive enough to think he wasn’t getting it elsewhere. For better or for worse, they had been married for more than 15 years now, and she knew her husband.  No, she decided, that wasn’t what upset her. It was all the small things. How he ignored her, never looked at her, made fun of her and did all the things he knew set her off. Whenever she entered a room the dimmers seemed to be just that little bit off, she first thought it had been an accident, but it became clear it wasn’t. He knew that bright lights gave her migraines; it was why they installed dimmers throughout the entire house in the first place. But now her eyes hurt whenever she came home; making the house itself seem hostile. But she refused to give in to him, so they argued and occasionally fought. The devil is in the details as they said.   
  
She had gone outside to enjoy the warm breeze of a summer night. The sky above her was clear and infinite patterns of stars stretched out above her. Her eyes glide over the lights as she searched constellations and found them; Ursa Minor with Ursa Major just above it. For the first time in months, she felt calm again, safe. Her eyes felt strained now, as she spotted Cassiopeia and Cepheus as well. The stars spread above her like a blanket, enveloping her in their cool splendour. Initially, she had craved warmth and comfort, but now tranquility was more soothing.  
  
The dim light from the house spread out behind her as if attempting to pollute the dense darkness around her. She really ought to get back inside, an early morning awaited her. When she returned, the lights were still exactly as she left them and a weak smile reached her lips. Maybe there was hope for them after all.  
  
The feeling of tenderness that engulfed her was short-lived, replaced by anger when she tries the door handle. Locked; her keys no longer in the door either. She tries several times, but the handle refuses to budge, and her determined knocking fails to excite any movements inside as well. The muscles in her shoulders tense up as she briskly walks to the front door, only to find it locked as well. Her fists were shaking as she made her way to the kitchen door, not expecting anything different. When she finally arrives at the windows of their living room she sees James on the couch, watching tv. Her fists hurt when they hit the glass, but he doesn’t budge. It’s tempting to entertain the thought that he might simply not hear her over the tv, but unfortunately, she knew him better than that.

__ Bastard.  
  
*

She’s glad when she suddenly finds herself elsewhere yet again, relieved she won’t have to relive that particular nightmare. She doesn’t realise the significance of the memory starting to play out in her memory at first. But then it hits her.   
  
_ Frankie _ .   


*

Loud music bleeding from a car that must be parked nearby is the first thing she notices after parking in her new allocated spot. Mildly annoyed she turns in her car seat to find the source of the racket. Her eyes scourge the small parking lot, searching the culprit. The red car blasting pop songs isn’t hard to spot; especially not with the woman inside swinging her head in time with the music and visibly singing along. Unable to resist a dramatic sigh and eye roll, she slams her car door with more force than strictly necessary and makes her way to the entrance. 

_ Off to a great start so far. _

At the door, the eternal push versus pull fight ensues. After finally having figured out how the blasted door works (they always seemed set against her), something bumps into her, a whirlwind of red, blue nurses uniform and overly-cheerful apologies. When she looks up she sees the woman from the red car.

“Oh, you must be the new GP, Doctor Evans! So nice to meet you!” She extends her hand, Zoe takes it, a bit bewildered and overwhelmed “Frankie Maddox! I’m a district nurse, together with the rest of the lot in the office down the hall!”   
  
“Ah, Yes- I’m Zoe Evans; I’ll be taking over from Dr Jeffreys. Pleased to meet you, Miss-” She corrects herself, she hates it when people address her by her gender rather than her title after all.  _ Bloody nerves.  _ “-Nurse Maddox.”   


“Oh, don’t worry about it.” She waves her hand, clearly not too bothered about titles. “It’s just Frankie, that’s what everyone calls me.” She pauses for a second, almost pensive. “Well, everyone except Andy- He’ll call me Franks, but he’s just being funny y’know- bloody men!”    
  
If she wasn’t overwhelmed yet, she certainly is now. But the woman keeps chattering as they walk in. It hasn’t been five minutes, but the need to retreat and process all the stimuli currently bombarding her is already presenting itself.  _ Poor neurons _ . A schematic of her neurons firing maniacally visualises in her mind, acetylcholine and norepinephrine were probably flooding her brain. Somehow she finds it calming, analysing the nature of her stress responses. Visualising what is happening to her into the smallest detail. It soothes her to know that there is nothing wrong with her, just a handful of innocent chemicals being absorbed and released in her brain. She remembers med school and the surprise of her tutor when she made the decision to be a GP. Admittedly, she was probably better suited to be a medical researcher or neurologist. Fewer people, more chemicals. Less socialising, more analysing.  _ Or a good anaesthetist. Doped up patients can’t complain about bad back insurance claims _ . The woman beside her is still talking as she comes to a halt, realising she can’t remember which door leads to her new office. She looks around the hall, trying to recognise the hallway and door she went through the last time she was here.

“Oh! You must be looking for your office of course. Silly me, just rambling on.” Nurse Maddox is beaming another one of her broad smiles “C’me on, I’ll show you.” And with a tilt of her head she takes her hand, dragging them through the hallway to a door all the way at the back. 

“Tada! Here we are.” And she swings open the door. The room is much emptier than she remembers it and also seems much bigger. Light is falling into the room through a set of mucky windows.    
  
“Thank you, nurse Maddox.” She says, subdued. 

“Oh, just say Frankie. It’s alright, really.”    
  
She crinkles her nose. “It’s a bit stuffy in here isn’t it?” She crosses the room to a large window and starts fiddling with the window lock. “I fear Dr Jeffreys wasn’t really a fan of fresh air.” Frankie barks a laugh. “Wasn’t much of a fan of clearing up in general, but the cleaning ladies and the rest of us tried to get it as tidy as possible after he left.”   
  
She replies with a nod and only manages an overwhelmed. “Thank you.” As she set her bag down on the desk and looks around.   


“Oh the desk is new, the old one was- Well...” She laughs nervously. “In quite a state, if you catch my meaning.”   
  
_ Broken and disgusting?  _ She definitely remembered the desk from her last interview.  
  
“Ah…” The desk is indeed the only relatively dust free object in the room, but she’d manage. 

“Right!” Frankie exclaims. “I’ll leave you to settle, but be sure to pop over to our office- It’s just down the other hallway, third door on the right.” She paused to grin. “But I’m sure you’ll hear the lot long before you get there!”    
  
She made her way to the door “Oh and if you need a hand getting your books and” she waves her hands around animatedly “-Stuff, just give one of the boys a shout! They could do with a wee workout!” She winks playfully and pushes the strap of the bag a bit higher on her shoulder. “Right- I’ll see you later!”    
  
And with that Nurse Maddox- Frankie -she corrected herself- turned around and left with an audible fluttering of bag and coat.

The office suddenly feels eerily quiet and calm. Dampened noises from the hall and road outside are the only sounds bleeding through the walls of her office. With a sigh, she sits down in her chair. A small cloud of dust comes out of the cushion.    
  
_ That definitely also needs replacing _ .    
  
Dust particles are floating in rays of light falling through the windows of her office. On the other side of the door, down the hallway, someone is laughing loudly. Zoe closes her eyes, letting all the stimuli from the past fifteen minutes float and settle in her mind, like the dust in the light. 

_ New desk. _

_ Questionable window mechanism. _

_ Bad chair. _

Her new office isn’t exactly what she had dreamed off, but it wasn’t too shabby either. Some proper hoovering and a wet wipe over the shelves should do it. Her thoughts turn to her boys, how would they be doing at school? So far they seemed to enjoy their new school, much more than the previous one. A better school for the boys had been their reason for moving after all and she had been determined to be at home with them the first month; make sure they’d settle in properly. All had seemed fine, but she couldn’t stop herself from worrying regardless. Now it is her turn to settle it seemed.

_ Third door on the right down the hall. _

_ Frankie Maddox. _

_ Ask the boys for a hand. _

She ought to go introduce herself to her new colleagues, but silently hoped they weren’t all like the woman she just met. While she had been nice, she’d been… A bit much. Overwhelming,  _ very  _ energetic, definitely vivacious. It was obvious how she came to be a nurse with that natural charm. It’d be hard to feel sick and miserable in her presence. Envy rose up in her throat, turning her stomach. Frankie posses the kind of warmth and friendliness she had never managed to obtain. She’d apparently always been aloof and cold. Sometimes even arrogant. Even James had said as much, and well- She presumed him to be the authority on the subject after 10 years of marriage.     


She exhales, opens her eyes again and rests her hands against the cool wood of her new desk. Time to get to business and unpack her bag.

Sweat is starting to form on her temple after carrying in the second box with most of her books when she is interrupted by a sharp knock on her door.   
  
“Come in!” She shouts, mentally preparing herself for another surge of well-intended chattering, but instead a man comes through the door. Judging by his grey hair and rather formal clothes, another doctor.

“I hope I’m not interrupting?”   
  
“Of course not, come in.” He is in fact interrupting, but politeness dictates she says otherwise. She pats her hands against her sides, hopes they aren’t to damp now, and extends a hand.   
  
“Dr Zoe Evans.”   
  
“Dr John Strider, senior partner here.” She feels wary, unsure whether she has the energy to deal with the ego-politics of middle-aged men. “Good to meet you. I see you’ve settled in already? Still need a hand?”   
  
“I’ll be okay, but thank you. You’re not the first to offer.” He gives her a questioning look. “Nurse Maddox- one of the district nurses also offered a hand.”   
  
He grins. “Ah- you’ve been introduced. Vivacious lot, aren’t they?”   
  
“Oh, you could say that!”   
  
“Takes a bit of getting used to, but they’re good people, doing some good work. But- What I came here for: we’d also like to give you a bit of a welcome. Me and the others; I believe you’ve met Caroline- Dr McKenzie already during your interview?”    
  
She nods and he continues. “Good, good. There’s also Thomas -Tom- down the other end of the hall, but I believe he isn’t in today. Anyway,” He was getting to the point now “We were thinking we could all go out for a drink and bite sometime; get to know each other.”   
  
“Gladly, I’ll have to see with my boys though. Make sure they aren’t alone”   
  
“You have sons? How old are they?”   
  
“Ten and twelve; but I want to be sure-”   
  
“Oh I completely understand! Never too old, aren’t they? Our Rosemary is the same age, year eight at Sulgrave now-”   
  
She jumps at the chance of being able to contribute something of meaning to the conversation. “Sulgrave? My boys are also going there. Does she enjoy it, Rosemary?”   
  
“As much as any teenager enjoys school- But it’s a good school, best in the region in fact.”   
  
Relief washes over her as she hears that. “It’s why we moved.”  
  
“You moved to the right place then!”  
  
They chat for a bit longer; exchanging pleasantries, discussing children and the abominable house market, and she finds she likes Dr Strider. For the first time she feels as if things might fall into place after all.

 

_ Everything will go to plan. It has to. _

*

It’s early when she wakes up, it’s still dark outside, barely five o’clock. An unfamiliar outward force, propels her to get out of bed, pushes her to dress and still caught up in a daze she manages to wobble outside. Her ankle throbs as she walks, but her eyes are focussed on the horizon where she can see the air starting to bleed with colour. She manages to walk up the hill above the hostel well enough to reach a bench with a view of the valley.

Hair is sticking to her face when she finally sits down on the wooden bench, but it doesn’t bother her. Sweat is running down her spine, causing her vest to stick to her skin. The cold air against her nose stands in stark juxtaposition to the heat that seems to run through her veins. She can’t help but sniffle a little, but doesn’t care. She feels almost euphoric for managing to reach the bench. Luckily, her zip doesn’t get stuck for once as she opens her jacket in an attempt to cool down a little. The bench she is sat on is old and worn, paint peeling, and it is covered in many, many scribbles, some as old as herself she notices. Amongst all of them she finds ‘Catherine and Paul. 1998’ and wonders if it is her Catherine.  

Unavoidably, her thoughts return to Frankie. How everyone just fell at her feet; colleagues, friends and men.  _ And she supposed that even she had fallen at Frankie’s feet, in a twisted way. _ Frankie had everything and it felt unfair. Where had she gone wrong? What had she done wrong? Anger swells up in her, but sinks down again- Exhaustion easily overcomes her jealousy and she’s simply unable to maintain the feeling.  _ Since when was being jealous so exhausting? _ Her arm lifts itself and long digits extend themselves towards the sun rising on the horizon. Grasping the unreachable dream.    
  
_ What is wrong with me?  
_   
The bench turns out to be surprisingly comfortable, so she stays and watches the sunrise and slowly sees the valley below her come alive. Although, her ankle now feels worse than before and she decides to delay walking back as long as she can. It’s not like she’s got any plans anyway. Her fingers toy with the keys in her pocket as her eyes slide over all the names engraved in the bench. It seemed like a really, really bad idea, but it’s not like that had stopped her the last few months. Her fingers close around the key —the key of what once was their family home— and she pushes it into the soft wood. It takes her more effort than she expected to carve the letters into the wood. With every inch of wood she carves out, she feels a bit lighter than before. Relief washes over her when she finally releases the key from her cramped hand and stretched her fingers. Her carving stands out against all the others. She had expected to feel embarrassed, but instead feels cathartic. Her fingers ghost over the splintered wood.  __ Frankie . Maybe it was time to try and let it go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I updated. Yes it took months. No I have no excuse, this is just because who I am as a person. Also tropes and no sensible plot-line, but I don't care. I had fun.


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